“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse. He had put himself before the threshold of damnation; for Ruth was now a vestal in the temple. There were white men with families, a fine mission-house, and a club-house for cards and billiards.
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